Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Coxswain's Bride; also, Jack Frost and Sons; and, A Double Rescue
Story 1 – Chapter 8
Seldom have the mysterious sparks of life been sought for more anxiously, or tended and nursed with greater care, than were the little sparks of fire which were evoked with difficulty from Tomlin’s match-box.
Drizzling rain had commenced just as the wrecked party landed. The tarpaulin had been set up as a slight though very imperfect shelter; the ground underneath had been strewn with twigs and grass, and a large pile of dead branches had been arranged to receive the vital spark before any attempt was made to create it.
“Everything must be quite ready, first,” said Hayward to Tomlin, “for our very lives depend, under God, on our securing fire; so keep the matches snug in your pocket till I ask for them.”
“I will,” replied Tomlin, “D’you know it never occurred to me before how tremendously important the element of fire is? But how will you ever manage to make the branches catch, everything being so thoroughly soaked?”
“You shall see. I have had to make a fire in worse circumstances than the present,” returned Hayward, “though I admit they are bad enough. Have you got the small twigs broken and ready, Slag?”
“All ready, sir.”
“Now look here, Tomlin.”
As he spoke, the doctor picked up a dead but wet branch, and, sheltering himself under the tarpaulin, began to whittle it with his penknife. He found, of course, that the interior of the branch was dry. The thin morsels which he sliced off were handed to Slag, who placed them with great care in the heart of a bundle of very small twigs resembling a crow’s nest. A place had been reserved for this bundle or nest, in the heart of the large pile of branches lying on the ground. Meanwhile, Slag held the nest ready in his hands.
“Now, Tomlin, get out your matches,” said the doctor.
With the utmost care the anxious man unfolded the kerchief, and, opening the box, looked into it earnestly.
“Wet?” asked Hayward.
Tomlin shook his head. “I fear they are.” He took one out, while the whole party assembled round him to note the result.
The first match dropped its head like a piece of soft putty when scraped on the lid. The second did the same, and a suppressed groan escaped from the little group, for it could be seen that there were not more than ten or twelve matches in the box altogether. Again and again a match was struck with similar result. The fifth, however, crackled a little, and rekindled, sinking hope in the observers, though it failed to kindle itself. The seventh burst at once into a bright blaze and almost drew forth a cheer, which, however, was checked when a puff of wind blew out the new-born flame.
“Och! let Bob Massey try it!” cried O’Connor. “Sure he’s used to workin’ in throublesome weather.”
“Right, boy,” said Slag, “hand it to the coxs’n.”
Tomlin readily obeyed, only too glad to get some of the failure shifted to other shoulders.
Massey readily undertook the task, and success attended his first effort.
“I knowed it!” said Nellie, in a quiet tone, as she saw the bright flame leap up and almost set her husband’s beard on fire. “Bob never fails!”
The burning match was quickly plunged into Hayward’s handful of shavings, which blazed up as he thrust it into Slag’s nest; and Slag, holding the nest with the tender care of a loving sick-nurse and the cool indifference of a salamander till it was a flaming ball, crammed it into the heart of the pile of sticks. Tremendous was the volume of smoke that arose from the pile, and anxious were the looks riveted on it.
“Sure ye’ve smothered it intirely,” gasped O’Connor.
“Oh, me!” sighed Peggy in a voice of mild despair.
“No fear, it’s all right,” said Massey, in a confident tone, while Joe Slag, on his knees, with cheeks inflated and nose all but kindling, blew at the glowing heart with unwearied determination, regardless alike of friend and foe.
“It’s going to do,” remarked John Mitford in his most dismal tone.
“Any child might tell that,” said Nellie, with a light laugh.
The laugh seemed infectious, for the whole party joined in as a glorious gush of flame rushed among the sticks, dried up the dampness, and effectually changed the pillar of smoke into a pillar of fire.
The fire thus kindled was rightly deemed of such vital importance that it was not permitted to go out thereafter for many months, being watched night and day by members of the party appointed to the duty by turns. It had, indeed, not a few narrow escapes, and more than once succeeded in reaching what appeared to be its last spark, but was always caught in time and recovered, and thus was kept burning until a discovery was made which rendered such constant attendance and care unnecessary.
“Now,” said Dr Hayward, when the fire was safely established, “we have not much daylight left, so it behoves us to make the most of it. You are a man of action and experience, Robert Massey, what would you advise us to do first?”
“Well, doctor, since you’re good enough to ask me, I would advise that we should appoint a leader. You see, mates,” he continued, addressing himself to the company in general, “there’s no possibility of a ship gettin’ along without a captain, or an army without a general. If we was going off to a wreck now, with or without a lifeboat, I would claim a sort o’ right to be coxswain in virtue o’ past experience; but, as we’ve now begun a sort o’ shore-goin’ business, which requires a deal o’ general knowledge, besides seamanship, an’ as Dr Hayward has got that by edication, I move that we make him our leader.”
“Right you are, Bob,” said Joe Slag. (“As he always is,” said Nellie, sotto voce.) “So I second the move—if that’s the reg’lar way to do it.”
“Hear, hear!” said every one with right good will, and a gleam of pride flashed from Eva’s pretty brown eyes as her husband was thus unanimously appointed leader of the shipwrecked band.
Like a sensible man, knowing his capacity, he at once accepted the command without any display of undue modesty, and proved his fitness by at once going to work.
“The first thing, then, is to thank God for our deliverance, which we all do, I am sure, most heartily.”
This was received with a responsive “Amen” from every one—not even excepting Black Ned.
“Next, we must find fresh water and boil a bit of pork—”
“Ah, then, we haven’t a kittle!” exclaimed O’Connor.
“Haven’t we a big baling-dish, Terrence?” said Hayward.
“Sure we have, sor, an’ it’s a tin wan as’ll stand fire,” returned Terrence with a reproved look.
“Well, then, you go fetch it; wash it well out and get the pork ready. Jarring and Tomlin will gather as much dead wood as they can find and pile it beside the fire. Mitford will search for fresh water—there must be a spring or brook not far off—and Massey and I will rig up some sort of shelter for the night.”
“Please, sir, may I go with Mitford to seek for water?” asked Nellie.
“By all means, if you wish to.”
“And I will keep you company, Nell,” said Mrs Hayward energetically.
“So will I,” chimed in little Mrs Mitford, feebly. “I was always fond of water. As a child I used to paddle about in it continually, an’ sometimes tumbled into it, for of course young people will—”
“No, Peggy, you must sit by the fire with my wife,” said the doctor. “Neither of you is fit for work of any kind yet, so sit down and warm yourselves.”
Eva was too wise and Peggy too weak to offer objection, so these two sat by the fire while the others went to work.
Energy of action tends to lighten the burdens that may be laid on human spirits, and to induce the most favourable view of the worst circumstances. The toil which the party now undertook was such a blessed relief to them after the prolonged exposure to cold and comparative inaction in the boat, that all returned to the camp-fire in a much more cheerful state of mind than they left it. The searchers for water came back first, having found what they sought close at hand; and Terrence, filling his baling-dish, soon had the pork boiling, along with some mysterious herbs gathered by the doctor to convert the liquid into soup. Tomlin and Black Ned returned heavily laden with firewood, and Bob Massey discovered a tree with branches sufficiently spreading and leafy to protect them to some extent from rain.
“’Tis as well we have found overhead protection, Massey,” said the doctor, when our coxswain led him to the spot, “for I have been thinking that as we have no blankets, we shall be obliged to use our tarpaulin as a quilt rather than an umbrella.”
“That’s true, sir,” returned Massey, “but how about the women?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that,” said Hayward, “and I’ve devised a plan for to-night at least; to-morrow I hope to hit on a better arrangement. First of all, we’ll spread in front of a fire, which we will kindle beneath this tree, a layer of branches and grass. In the middle of this the women will lie down side by side, after having dried and warmed themselves thoroughly at the fire. Then we’ll take two of the floor planks from the boat, and put one on each side of them—partially frame them, as it were. Then one half of us men will lie down on one side of the frame, the other half on the other side, and we’ll draw the tarpaulin over us all.”
“Hm! not very comfortable,” said Massey, “for the poor women to be framed like that.”
“Admitted; but what else can we do?” said Hayward. “It would risk our lives to sleep without covering of any kind in such cold weather, and with sleet falling as it does now. Better have the sheet spread upon us than merely over our heads. So now let’s kindle another fire, and do you arrange our couch, Bob.”
In spite of the cold and the sleet, things looked much more cosy than persons unacquainted with “roughing it” could believe possible, and they became comparatively happy when the couch was spread, and they were seated under the sheltering tree, with the fire blazing and crackling in front of them, suffusing their faces and persons and the leaf-canopy overhead with a deep red glare, that contrasted well with the ebony-black surroundings, while a rich odour of pork soup exhaled from the baling-dish.
“Ah! now there’s nothin’ wantin’ to produce parfit felicity but a pipe,” said O’Connor with a sigh.
“That’s so, lad,” assented Tomlin, echoing the sigh, and feeling in his pocket from force of habit, though he knew too well that nothing was to be found there.
“Here, Terrence,” said Massey, handing him an empty pipe, at the same time asking him to shut his eyes and draw, and try to imagine himself smoking, but Terrence shook his head.
“I couldn’t do that, Bob,” he said, “but I’ll sing ye a stave in praise o’ the weed.”
Without waiting for permission, the jovial Irishman at once began:
“Oh! it’s ’baccy as is my chief joy,
At mornin’, noon and night;
An’ it’s verily my belief, boy,
That I love it with all my might.
If your liver an’ lungs are squeakin’,
An’ your head is growin’ cracky,
There’s nothin’ so sure to kill or cure,
As fumes o’ the strongest ’baccy.”
“If it would improve your voice, Terrence,” observed Mr Mitford, meekly, “I’m sure I wish ye had pounds of it, for it’s that harsh—though, of course, I make no pretence to music myself, but—”
“Just listen to that now, ‘Harsh!’ an’ that to a man whose own mother, by the father’s side, towld him he shud make music his purfession! Arrah, howld on, Black Ned, ye spalpeen; ye’ve had two helpin’s already!”
This latter remark had reference to the baling-dish of soup which was being passed round the party, so that each might help himself to two mouthfuls of soup before passing it on. As they had no spoons, the doctor had extemporised ladles of folded bark which served the purpose pretty well.
“Haven’t ye a small bit o’ ’baccy in the corner o’ wan o’ yer pockets, doctor, dear?” asked Terrence, insinuatingly. “May be ye’d find a morsel if ye’d try.”
“Quite useless to try, my poor fellow,” returned the doctor, with a look of affected pity, “for I’m a non-smoker. I never indulge in such an absurdity.”
“Sure, it’s a true proverb that says ‘doctor’s differ,’” retorted O’Connor, “for most o’ the saw-bones of my acquaintance have smoked like lime kilns.”
“More’s the pity, Terrence, but if you’ll heave on some more firewood you’ll have a smoke that may do as a substitute at present.”
By heaping quantities of fresh branches on the fire till it was large enough to roast an ox, the party managed to pass the night in comparative comfort, in spite of cold and sleet. Hayward watched the fire during the first part of the night. Then he was relieved by our coxswain, who was succeeded by Joe Slag, and no Vestal virgins ever tended their fire with more anxious solicitude than those three men guarded theirs during that first night on the island.
As if to make up for the sufferings of the past few days, the morning that followed broke with unclouded splendour, and the rising sun shone upon as beautiful a scene as could well be imagined, for it revealed an island richly clothed with verdure, which, rising out of a calm blue sea, sloped gradually upwards, until its western ridge met the bright sky. Evidently that terminating ridge was the place whence descended the precipitous cliffs, along which they had sailed immediately after leaving the cave of the wreck.
There is no accounting for the eccentricities of weak-minded females, whether pretty or plain. The first thing that pretty little Mrs Mitford exclaimed on opening her eyes and beholding the glorious view was—
“Oh! I do so wish that we had oysters for breakfast!”
If she had expressed a desire for elephant chops, she could not have taken Eva Hayward more by surprise. As for Nell Massey, she went off into a hilarious giggle.
“I fear there are no oysters hereabouts,” said Hayward, “but I shouldn’t wonder if we were to find mussels and things of that sort. Come, lads, we’ll go and have a search for them, while the ladies fill and boil our kettle.”
Limpets, mussels, and other shell-fish were found in great abundance. With these warm soup was soon made, and after a hearty breakfast, Hayward organised the party in two bands which were sent off in different directions to explore the island, Peggy and her husband being left behind to cook the dinner and keep up the fire.
Story 1 – Chapter 9
For several days the shipwrecked party continued to live chiefly on limpets and mussels gathered on the sea-shore. Only a very little of the pork was used, for the purpose of converting the food into soup. As they could not tell, of course, how long they might be compelled to live there, it behoved them to be very careful of the food-supply already in possession. Fortunately, the weather continued fine, though cold, so that it was not necessary at first to make any alteration in their camp arrangements.
During this period much of their time was necessarily spent in laying in a stock of shell-fish, and in attempting to bring down with stones some of the gulls which flew inquisitively about and very temptingly near to the camp, but none of the party was a good marksman with stone ammunition, and it soon became evident that unless some other means of obtaining food were discovered there was every prospect of starvation ending their career.
In this emergency Dr Hayward organised an exploring expedition on a more extended scale. He divided the party into three bands—one consisting of Ned Jarring, Tomlin, and himself, to examine the shores; another comprising Joe Slag, John Mitford, and O’Connor, to penetrate the interior and higher lands; while it was appointed to Bob Massey, who had by that time come to be more frequently addressed by his old title of “coxswain,” to stay at the camp, keep the all-important fire going, and guard the women.
“You see, we must go about this business thoroughly,” said the doctor, when they were all assembled in the camp one day after their frugal meal, excepting O’Connor, who was a short distance off, trying, with unwearied perseverance and unvaried failure, to kill gulls with stones. “And for this purpose, we must hold a council of war. Where’s Terrence?”
“He’s pelting the gulls as usual,” said Black Ned.
“A-missin’ of ’em, you mean,” suggested Mitford.
“Hallo, Terrence!” shouted Hayward, catching sight of the Irishman at that moment. “Here! we want you.”
“Comin’, sor, jist wan more shot at this baste. He’s bin flyin’ round me hid for half-an-hour at laste, winkin’ at the stones as they go by him. Och! missed again—bad luck to ye!”
As he uttered the malediction the disappointed man heaved a last stone, angrily and without an attempt at an aim. He did not even look up to observe the result, but turned sharply round towards the camp.
That stone, however, was like the arrow shot at a venture. It hit the bird full on the breast and brought it down, which fact was made known to the sportsman by a cheer from the camp and a heavy thud behind him.
“Well done, Terrence!” cried Hayward as he came up with his prize. “I regard it as a good omen—a sort of turn in the tide which will encourage us on our contemplated expedition.”
The leader then gave minute instructions as to how long they were to be away; how much food they were to take; the direction to be followed, and the work to be done.
“In short,” said the doctor in conclusion, “we must use our eyes, ears, and limbs to the best advantage; but bear in mind that the grand object of the expedition is—”
“Grub,” suggested O’Connor.
“Just so. Grub is our first and greatest necessity. Meanwhile, Peggy, Nell, and Eva will do what they can to make our camp comfortable: gather mussels and other shell-fish and see that the coxswain does not eat more than a fair share of victuals, and conducts himself in all respects like an obedient and trusted servant.”
With such and similar touches of pleasantry Hayward sought to cheer the spirits of the party and divert their minds from dwelling too much on the fact that their case was a very serious one—almost desperate, for they were on a comparatively small island, far to the southward of the usual track of ships, without food or shelter, and without any of the ordinary means of procuring either.
The remainder of that day was spent in making preparation for the projected expedition. As they had no offensive or defensive arms, except two gully knives, their first business was to provide each man with a spear. Fortunately, some of the surrounding trees had very straight branches of various sizes, so they had only to cut down such as were suitable, and peel the bark off. But the formation of hard points gave them some anxiety, until Tomlin hit upon the idea of utilising the bones of their pork.
“The very thing!” said Mitford, with a look of melancholy satisfaction.
Having no turn whatever for mechanics, he never saw difficulties till they met and overcame him, and was always ready to rush in where mechanical angels—if we may say so—feared to tread.
“And how would you propose to cut the bones, John?” asked Slag, with an air of modest simplicity.
“Cut ’em? eh! well—wi’ the knife, of course.”
It was found, however, that the knife made but slight impression on the bones, and after one or two vain attempts, they turned to a more effective method. Finding a huge boulder of some kind of sandstone they broke it up, and on the rough surface thus produced, ground the bones into sharp points, and by an ingenious method known to Slag, who learned it from the Eskimos, they fixed these firmly on the ends of their spears.
Thus armed, and with a small quantity of cold pork, and a large allowance of cold boiled limpets and mussels in their wallets, they set out on their explorations.
It is impossible to accompany two parties at once. Let us follow just now the one composed of Joe Slag, Terrence O’Connor, and John Mitford. These, with Joe as their leader, proceeded along the shore some miles in a northerly direction; and then, turning into the bush, which was nowhere thick, they pushed into the interior of the island. After advancing about ten miles they came on a wide stretch of sandhills or downs, and found that, having crossed a sort of isthmus, they had come out again on the sea-shore.
“This won’t do,” said Slag, on making the discovery. “We’ll have to steer d’rect for the highest land.”
“That’s so, Joe,” said Mitford, “and yonder’s a height away there, right in the wind’s eye, that will act as a beacon to us.”
“I sees it, John—but, I say, what’s the matter wi’ Terrence?”
This question was drawn forth by the action of the Irishman, who had walked on about fifty yards in advance of his comrades. He was standing in the attitude of an ancient Roman about to discharge a javelin. Stooping low as if to render themselves less conspicuous, Mitford muttered, “hallo!” and his comrade whispered, “Sh! he sees suthin’!”
Whatever it was he saw, O’Connor evidently felt too far off to act effectively, for, after standing a moment in the classic position just referred to, he suddenly lowered his spear, dropped on hands and knees, and made a slow, undignified advance of a few yards. Then he rose again, became classic once more and discharged his spear, in a manner that would have done credit to Achilles himself.
The growl that followed, and the “bad luck to ye,” that came faintly back on the breeze, told too plainly that the result was a miss.
“Sure it’s a rabbit I saw,” he said, returning to his companions, “an’ if I’d only sent it two yards more to the left, I’d have hit the baste!”
To the satisfaction of the explorers, it was found that the sandhills were burrowed all over by rabbits, and that there existed there a large colony of them. Cheered by this—in spite of their bad javelin play—they made for the high ground, and soon found themselves threading a belt of wood, after crossing which they reached the foot of the range of hills that bounded the island to the westward.
It was a weird, rugged spot, covered with great boulders that had rolled down the hill-sides, and with gaps and chasms here and there of considerable depth, that suggested the idea of volcanic action having visited the place at some remote period. These chasms or rents in the earth were overgrown with trees or bushes in many places, and obliged the travellers to make wide detours in some places to avoid them.
Thus they were so much delayed that night was upon them before they had reached the higher parts of the hill-range where they had intended to encamp.
The difference between blanketing and gossamer is great, yet it is inconceivably slight compared with the difference between gossamer and nothing! In the pride of their strength the members of the exploring party lay down to sleep without covering of any kind, for the good reason that they possessed none, and before morning they would gladly have given a fabulous price for even a gossamer coverlet.
“It’s freezin’ I am, if not froze,” said Terrence O’Connor at the end of the second sleepless hour. “If we could have only brought away some o’ the fire in our pockets, what a comfort it would have bin!”
He got up, shook himself, and slapped his arms across his breast vigorously.
Slag and Mitford followed his example.
“I’m beginnin’ to feel better on the outside,” continued O’Connor, pausing, “but my spinal marrow isn’t properly warm yet.”
“’Minds me o’ Baffin’s Bay,” growled Slag, with a mighty slap of the arms between each word.
Mitford seemed to think any remark superfluous, for he only groaned.
“Pity it’s too dark to see yer face, John,” said Terrence. “It must be a sight worth seein’. Och, av I only had a good-sized pocket-han’kicher I’d wrap me feet in it, anyhow.”
“Suppose we cut some grass and try that?” suggested Mitford.
The suggestion was acted on.
It was slow work cutting grass with a clasp-knife; tearing it up in handfuls was still slower, but the labour warmed the tired explorers, and when they lay down again under this Adam-an’-Eveic bedding, they fell asleep almost immediately, and did not waken till the sun was pretty well up in the eastern sky.
“Breakfast fust,” said Slag, on completing a tremendous stretch and yawn. “It’s always bin my way since I was a babby—business first; pleasure to foller. Grub is business, an’ work is pleasure—leastwise, it ought to be to any man who’s rated ‘A. One’ on the ship’s books. Hallo! sorrowful-monkey-face, clap a stopper on yer nose an’ tumble up,—d’ye hear?”
Mitford did not hear, but a touch of Slag’s toe caused him to feel and to rise.
O’Connor was already astir, preparing breakfast. Cold boiled mussels and a bit of pork may be good food, but it is not appetising. Consequently they did not linger long over the meal, but were soon striding up the mountain-side rejoicing in the fresh air and sunshine.
There was a certain phase in John Mitford’s character which had not yet been discovered by his friends, and was known only to his wife. He was romantic—powerfully so. To wander through unknown lands and be a discoverer had been the dream of his youth. He was naturally reticent, and had never said so to any one but Peggy, who, being the reverse of romantic, was somewhat awe-stricken by the discovery, and, in an imbecile way, encouraged him to hope that, “one of these days he’d ’ave ’is desires gratified, as there was nothink to prevent ’im from goin’ to Novazealand—if that was the right way to pronounce it—or to Van Demons land—not in a sinful way of course, for they had given up transportin’ people there now—though wherever they transported ’em to she couldn’t imagine—anyhow, there was nothink to prevent his tryin’.” And John did try, which was the primary cause of his being a member of the exploring party now under consideration.
Influenced by his romantic spirit, Mitford betrayed a troublesome tendency to wander from his comrades in pursuit of the Unknown. O’Connor, with the straightforward simplicity of his nation, set it down to pig-headedness. Slag, being a man of feeling, opined that it was absence of mind.
“The spalpeen! he’s off again,” said O’Connor, turning round as they halted to rest a minute, after breasting the hill for half-an-hour. “Hallo, John! Where are ye, boy?”
“Here—all right,” shouted a voice in the distance, “I’m exploring behind the knoll here. Go ahead; I’ll meet ye at the top o’ the hill.”
By that time they were within about an hour’s walk of the highest ridge of the island, so they pushed on without delay, expecting to find their lugubrious friend there before them, or not far behind them. It turned out as had been supposed. The mountain ridge formed the summit of the great precipice along the foot of which they had sailed after quitting the cavern, or, as they had come to call it, the wreck-cave. For some time the two stood on the giddy edge, looking in silence on the tremendous depths below, and the sublime spectacle of illimitable sea beyond, with its myriad facets gleaming in the sunshine.
Then they bethought them of their comrade, and turned back to look for him; hallooing now and then as they went, and expecting every moment to see him emerge from one of the gorges that led to the ridge. But there was no answering shout or any sign of his having been there. Soon, becoming anxious and then alarmed, the two men set to work in earnest to search for their lost comrade, but they sought in vain. Returning to the spot where they had last heard his voice, they continued the search in that direction, and made the rocks echo with their shouting. Still no John Mitford was to be found, and the curious thing was that there seemed to be no very rugged or precipitous formation of land where he could easily have met with an accident. At last, evening approached.
“We must go back at wance,” said O’Connor, with anxious looks, “an’ rouse all the men out to seek for him wi’ torches.”
Without another word they turned and made for the camp as fast as they could go.
Meanwhile, Dr Hayward and his party had been successful in their exploration, for they not only discovered a rabbit-warren, but had observed seals basking on the rocks, and found the tracks of goats, or some animal of that kind with divided hoofs. They had even succeeded in getting between a young seal and the water and speared it, so that there was something like jubilation in the camp on their return at the prospect of a fresh meal and better fare in future.
But this was abruptly put an end to by the arrival of Slag and his comrade with the news of Mitford’s disappearance. Poor Mrs Mitford was thrown into a state of terrible alarm, and at first insisted on accompanying the search party, but under the united entreaties of Eva and Nelly she was prevailed on to remain behind.
With torches made of resinous wood which burnt admirably they searched all that night, and, taking only a few hours’ rest, continued the search all the following day, but without success. Day after day the search was continued, even after all hope of ever again seeing their comrade alive had died out, but at last they were compelled to give it up and devote themselves to the urgent duty of procuring better shelter and food.
As for poor Mrs Mitford, she sank into a state of helpless and hopeless despair.
